The sweet-strung viol1 dinning in the dell,- Impestering trouble on my head doth come: No one kind Saint to ward the aye-increasing doom! Oh! I could wail my kingcup-deckèd leas, My parker's-grange far spreading to the sight, 2 Inured unto the pain, I let no salt tear flow. Here will I still abide till Death appear; I to lament have greater cause than thee, Oh! I would slay his murderer joyously, 6 Robert. Our woes alike, alike our doom shall be, My son, mine only son, all death-cold is! Here will I stay and end my life with thee,A life like mine a burden is, I wis. 'Swote ribible,' sweet violin.-Chatterton. ''Hantend,' accustomed.-Chatterton. 2 Marygold.-Chatterton. *Soe wille I, fyxed unto thys place, gre.'-Chatterton. * 'Oh! joieous I hys mortherer would slea.'-Chatterton. Portcullis.-Chatterton. 76 Ystorven,' dead.-Chatterton. Even from the cot flown now is happiness : Minsters alone can boast the holy Saint: Now doth our England' wear a bloody dress, And with her champions' gore her visage paint. Peace fled, Disorder shows her face dark-brow'd 2, And through the air doth fly in garments stained with blood. ECLOGUE THE THIRD. A Man; a Woman; Sir Roger. Wouldst thou ken Nature in her better part? In them you see the naked form of kind. Would it hear phrase of vulgar from the hind, Man. But whither, fair maid, do ye go? I will know whither you go, I will not be answered nay. Woman. To Robin and Nell, all down in the dell, To help them at making of hay. Man. Sir Roger, the parson, hath hired me there ; Come, come, let us trip it away: We'll work, and we'll sing, and we'll drink of strong beer, As long as the merry summer's day. 1 Doeth Englonde.'-Chatterton. Peace fledde, disorder sheweth her dark rode.' ('Rode,' complexion.) -Chatterton. Woman. How hard is my doom to work! Much is my woe! Dame Agnes, who lies in the kirk, With golden borders, strong, untold, What was she more than me, to be so? Man. I ken Sir Roger from afar, I will ask why the lordè's son Sir Roger. The sultry sun doth hie apace his wain; Methinks the cocks are 'ginning to grow tall. Man. All-a-boon, Sir Priest, all-a-boon! By your priestship, now say unto me, Sir Roger. Cast round thine eyes upon this hayèd lea; This withered floweret will a lesson tell : It rose, it blew, it flourished and did well, Looking askance upon the neighbour green; Yet with the green disdained its glory fell,— Did not its look, the while it there did stand, Such is the way of life: the lord's rich rent1 Believe the truth, there's none more whole than thee. Thou wouldst eftsoons see truth in what I say. Hast thou not seen a tree upon a hill, It shaketh dire, in dole and much affright; 1 The loverde's ente' (lord's purse).-Chatterton's text and gloss. What while the humble floweret lowly dight Such picture is of Life: the man of might Wouldst harder feel the wind, as higher thou didst mount. MINSTRELS' MARRIAGE-SONG. [From Ella; a Tragical Interlude.] First Minstrel. The budding floweret blushes at the light: In daisied mantles is the mountain dight; The slim1 young cowslip bendeth with the dew; The trees enleafèd, into heaven straught, When gentle winds do blow, to whistling din are brought. The evening comes and brings the dew along ; Second Minstrel. So Adam thought, what time, in Paradise, I 'Nesh,' tender.-Chatterton. Ynn womman alleyne mannès pleasaunce lyes, As instruments of joie were made the kynde.' VOL. III, Ee Chatterton. |